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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213827">Bound</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeepingintheTARDIS/pseuds/WeepingintheTARDIS'>WeepingintheTARDIS</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>3 Percent (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Introspection, Power Dynamics, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:48:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213827</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeepingintheTARDIS/pseuds/WeepingintheTARDIS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting to see André isn't straightforward. it's a psychological game with high stakes and no rules.</p><p>How did Michele become so dependent on Ezequiel?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ezequiel/Michele Santana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Bound</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a quiet night. The same old quiet night as every other night since her arrival to the Offshore. Moonlight casted gently moving shadows on the bedroom wall as the trees outside the window rustled in the early morning breeze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michele turned around in her bed, eyes scanning the small dimly lit room until they found the only personal item present. From the bedside drawer a young dark-haired man was looking brightly into the camera, white teeth flashing in a goofy smile that she knew so well. André. Michele reached out a hand, tracing her brother's cheek in the photo with a finger. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Soon</span>
  </em>
  <span> she promised wordlessly </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'll get you out of there soon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been the only reason she was here, on the Other Side. André had been the only reason she had agreed to Ezequiel's frankly absurd and vague terms. Her brother was the reason why she was, ironically so, just as locked up in the RTC as he was in the cube. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ironically it was Ezequiel himself who was personally overseeing her recovery. Michele had experience with Ezequiel’s anger issues. In hindsight their encounter right before she passed her Process should have been a warning of his emotional instability. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh what have they done to you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice could have belonged to an angel, albeit a fallen one. She blinked slowly and took him in, standing tall and well-dressed over her. He didn't seem disturbed in the least by her condition, merely glancing her over in a mixture of disinterest, disdain and just the slightest hint of disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He showed no interest in her exposed body, and yet she couldn't possibly have felt more naked than in that very moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was forced to crouch, hands tied to ankles around a metal bar that was cramped solid and thickly between upper and lower legs. Her face was wet, water and tears having mixed and she was still gasping, trying to regain her breath when he dismissed the other agents. She managed a weak "Não, por favor, não.", not even sure what she meant to achieve, before a blanket was dropped over her form and Michele was left alone with the man she hated most in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezequiel started pulling the ropes loose with short deliberate movements. Her limbs slid heavily to the floor, accompanied by the loud clattering of the bar. Her legs caught on the blanket and cold air hit her chest. His eyes were trained on the hand holding her ankle while undoing the last loops. The touch seemed uncharacteristically gently, but all Michele felt were pins and needles assaulting her senses as her blood regained full circulation. For a moment the irrational fear of being paralyzed flooded her brain with panic and she tried to turn over. The relief when she managed to curl up into foetal position was, however, short-lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled the blanket up to her shoulder and distantly registered the garment being adjusted over the curves of her buttocks. To protect her modesty? Because she was just another helpless puppet that he couldn't stand to look at?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waited, shivering on the cold hard ground while Ezequiel stood tall, rounded her and crouched down beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you want to kill me, Michele?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled her up, released her immediately, pushing her to the ground like she was nothing but trash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What might I want from you, Michele? In exchange for not eliminating you right now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was abundantly clear he wasn't referring just to the Process, but Michelle still held her tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you want to kill me?" The question was repeated dangerously calmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignored him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then all his mannerisms were thrown overboard and his foot landed too close to her head as he stamped it down to accentuate the words shouted at her in a flare of anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tell me!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand found its way into her hair. The first of many times he would grab her there, to force her to watch him, to pull her close or to push her down. A spark of madness shone in his impossibly dark eyes, a warning, and Michele couldn't risk another round of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I killed your brother?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand tightened and tears sprang into her eyes. She thought he would slap her, but he didn't.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michele shot one last longing look at her brother before turning away. She rolled over to her other side and regarded the sleeping form lying next to her, watched the steady rise and fall of the covers. She had passed her Process, but at what cost?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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